The By Request Collection. Kate HardyЧитать онлайн книгу.
of pajama bottoms and T-shirt big enough to fit two of her, and on the bedside table sat a glass of water and two pain-reliever tablets. At least, she was guessing that’s what they were. They could have been poison for all she knew, but death right now would be a welcome reprieve from the pain.
She gobbled them down and chugged the entire glass as she glanced around the room. It was decorated in earth tones with splashes of color here and there. The room was neither masculine nor feminine, which told her it was probably a spare. Through an open door she could see the bathroom, and guessed that the closed door next to it was a closet.
She pushed herself to get out of bed and change when what she really wanted to do was lie back down and sleep off the pounding in her head. The T-shirt hung down to her knees and thankfully the pajama bottoms had a drawstring because otherwise they would have been around her ankles. She looked out the window to a very cushy subdivision of midsize homes on decent-size lots. She had no clue where it was geographically. It looked cold and dreary out.
She didn’t doubt that Roman could afford a much bigger home, in a much swankier neighborhood, but he had never been into appearances. He had always been a practical man, and she could see that hadn’t changed.
In the bathroom she found a toothbrush still in the package and an unopened tube of toothpaste. And when she looked in the mirror she cringed. Her hair was a disaster, sticking every which way, and her mascara was smudged around her eyes. She looked like a deranged raccoon.
She found a hairbrush in one of the drawers and did what she could to her tattered blond locks and used the washcloth hanging on the towel rack to fix her face.
Honestly it wasn’t much help. Her excessive behavior was clear in her baggy eyes and pale complexion.
Oh well. Roman had seen her in worse shape than this before.
She brushed her teeth and refilled the water glass two more times, drinking more slowly. She didn’t feel sick, but she didn’t feel great, either. If she hadn’t already barfed—and oh did she hope she hadn’t—it was still a possibility.
With no hope of looking even halfway decent, she opened the bedroom door. The scent of coffee led her down the stairs to an open-concept living and dining room and a functional kitchen.
She found Roman lounging on a leather sectional wearing a long-sleeved camouflage thermal shirt and black running pants, his bare feet propped on a familiar-looking coffee table. He was reading the newspaper and a football game played on the flat-screen television across the room.
“Do I smell coffee?” she said.
He glanced up at her and smiled. “You do. The last time I checked on you, you were stirring so I made a fresh pot.”
He’d checked on her. How sweet was that? Not that she needed to be checked on. She was used to living alone. But still...
“Would you like a cup?”
“Please. A really big one.” She needed the caffeine to shake the blazing headache.
He eyed her questioningly. “Think your stomach can take it?”
“If I don’t have a cup, my head might explode. Unless you have something more direct, like an IV.”
He laughed, the deep baritone strumming across every nerve in her body. Even in her compromised state it made her already-wobbly knees knock a little harder. “Have a seat,” he said, pushing up off the couch. “One black coffee coming right up.”
She took a seat on the other end of the couch from where he’d been sitting, her body sinking into the plush leather, and watched him as he pulled a mug down from the cupboard over the coffeemaker and poured.
“Did you see the pills I left you?” he asked.
“Yes, thank you. And the things in the bathroom.”
He carried the cup to her. “Hungry?”
At the thought of food, her stomach turned and she shook her head.
Bad move.
Her temples screamed and she told him, “One thing at a time.”
The superstrong brew burned her tongue, but it tasted amazing. Definitely what she needed. This wasn’t the first time he’d nursed her through a hangover. Not even close. And he still knew just what to do. How to make her feel better. And he still cared after all this time.
“So, what happened last night? Aside from me getting drunk?”
He sat back down, taking up so much space it was ridiculous. When had he gotten so...wide? His biceps bulged against the sleeves of his shirt and his thighs were ridiculously muscular. “What do you remember?”
“After we left the hotel? I vaguely recall the limo ride, and after that, nothing. Why did you bring me here instead of taking me home?” Or maybe she didn’t want to know.
“I did take you home, but without the passcode I couldn’t get you into your apartment. The doorman wasn’t much help.”
She winced a little at the idea of Dale, the night doorman, seeing her that way.
“How did I end up out of my dress?” she asked.
“You don’t remember?”
Cautiously she said, “No.”
“Damn,” he said, shaking his head, a frown cutting deep into his brow. “Sex that wild, I was sure you would remember.”
She gasped, her eyes went wide and her heart stalled in her chest. “We did not!”
“Relax. I’m kidding,” he said with a chuckle. “Nothing happened.”
Was that disappointment she just felt? Nah, it couldn’t be. Besides, if she was going to sleep with him she would like to actually remember it.
If? Oh my God, there was no if. She wasn’t going to sleep with him. Ever.
Yeah, Gracie, you just keep telling yourself that.
“So why did I wake up in my underwear?”
“I helped you out of your dress and into bed. In the dark, so I didn’t see anything.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Really?”
He grinned. “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”
He was so lying.
“Not that I haven’t seen it all before,” he added.
True, and her body hadn’t changed much in the past seven years. But his sure had, and what she wouldn’t give to see him out of his clothes.
“You did try to jump me on the limo ride home, though,” he said, and then added with a grin, “Still limber as ever.”
“I did not!” Gracie said, looking scandalized. And she was sexy as hell wearing his clothes. She was sexy wearing anything, but seeing her in the oversize shirt stirred up distinct memories. Though he preferred to see her wearing nothing at all.
“Oh yes you did,” he told her. She had climbed into his lap and tried to kiss him, and as much as Roman had wanted to kiss her back, he would never take advantage of any woman in such a compromised state. If she was going to kiss him—and he didn’t doubt that she would—she was going to be sober. And she would come to him. “I practically had to beat you off with a stick.”
She glared at him.
He laughed. “Okay, I’m lying about the stick part, but you did put the moves on me. You were all hot and bothered.”
“I’m sorry,” she said with a wince.
Sorry? Last night had been the most fun he’d had in ages. The best part had been watching