Page 26 of Blackmailing the Bad Girl

Where am I?

At the thought, she had a feeling of déjà vu.

Her head pounded and her stomach churned. Hot acid flooded her mouth, and she sat up abruptly.

Oh, God, I’m going to throw up.

Kicking the leg that anchored her to the bed out of the way, she lurched to her feet. Her vision swam. She blinked, steadying herself, then made a dash for the bathroom.

She made it just in time, throwing up the contents of her stomach. Oh, God, she didn’t want to think about her stomach, all that chocolate cake, and champagne… Ugh.

She threw up again, then sank to her knees and waited until she was sure she could move without vomiting. After dragging herself up with a hand on the sink, she stared into the mirror.

More ugh.

She turned on the cold tap and gulped down mouthfuls of cold water. Stubble rash dotted her breasts, and if she wasn’t mistaken, her thighs.

Don’t go there.

Some things were best forgotten.

Which might be hard when she was going to see him most days.

She felt sticky, and her mouth tasted horrible, and she didn’t want to go back into the living room. If she hid in here long enough, would he get the message and disappear? As if she’d conjured him up with the thought, a bang sounded on the door.

“Summer?” She thought about ignoring him, but the bang came again. “Are you all right?”

“No. Go away.”

Wrong answer. She should have lied and told him she was fine.

“What’s wrong?”

She sighed, glaring at the door. For a blackmailing bastard, he was way too concerned about how she was. “Nothing. I’m just going to shower. Why don’t you let yourself out?”

“I’ll wait.”

Christ, he was nothing if not predictable.

She did her best to ignore him, showering quickly in case he decided to break the door down to make sure she wasn’t drowning. She’d washed her panties and T-shirt out in the bath last night and they were almost dry, but she hated dressing in yesterday’s clothes. They reminded her too much of yesterday. She’d collect her stuff today, but until then, it was this or nothing. And she wanted to be fully dressed when she faced Nik.

Last night was going to be firmly relegated to the past. However good the sex.

Never again.

When she opened the door, he was nowhere to be seen. But she could hear sounds from the kitchen.

She stood in the doorway and watched. He was cleaning up, rinsing glasses, his back to her.

Why?

Why couldn’t he leave? Or be horrible and do some rotten rich-guy stuff? She wasn’t sure of the etiquette involved in one-night stands. But wasn’t the polite thing just to go?

And why wasn’t he dressed? He’d pulled on his jeans, but as far as she could tell, nothing else. His feet were bare; his back was bare. All broad shoulders and golden skin.

She was feeling queasy again.

At least she hoped that was queasiness churning in her stomach.

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