She snorted and grabbed the bottle from my hand, taking a massive swig herself. “Yeah, of course, you also had to kick him. The host of the party. Marcus freaking Taylor.”

“Yeah, what the hell kind of pretentious name is that?” I made a grab for the tequila, but she held on, looking at me doubtfully.

“Oh come on—you have to have heard of him.”

I thought about it. “Not until today. I’ve heard of…Bard Taylor.”

“That’s his father. He died last year.”

Whether it was the influence of the booze or just my over-emotional state, I found this profoundly sad. I thought back to the huge otherwise empty house, the endless grounds, and suddenly wondered if he found them as lonely as I would.

“Oh.”

She looked up sharply at my abrupt change of tone. “No, no. I know that face.” She got to her feet as I stared up at her obliviously.

“What face?”

“You’re sinking into swamps of sadness.”

I screwed up my forehead. “I am not.”

“The chasm of regret and despair.”

“Are these actual places to you? Do you go to these places when I’m not here?”

She took my wrists and pulled me to my feet. “Come on, shower, then bed. You’ve had quite enough excitement for one night.”

I swayed slightly as she capped the bottle. “Don’t limit me. You can never have too much excitement.”

She patted me sympathetically on the cheek. “You have a delicate system when it comes to these sorts of things. Now, come on. Into the shower.”

My eyes grew abruptly heavy with fatigue, and I glanced longingly at my room. “No, bed first. I’ll shower in the morning.”

She gave me a calculating stare. “If you breathe in all those chemicals in your hair overnight, it’ll give your kids gills.”

My eyes widened for a moment at the wondrous possibilities. Then I decided she was right and trudged off obediently to the bathroom. I flicked on the water and stared into the mirror as it slowly clouded with steam. A pale, teary face stared back at me. Following a weird compulsion, I forced my features into a watery smile.

I did have an amazing time tonight. Scary, breathless, precarious, amazing. Everything traumatizing was due one hundred percent to me. And everything good was due one hundred percent to Marcus.

I remembered the look on his face as he tossed me up into the air. A carefree delight that grew heated when he lowered me slowly to the floor.

A belated shiver ran up my calves, and I suddenly wondered if Amanda was right. Did my “single girl in the big city” programming kick in too fast and I jumped the gun?

What was he going to propose? Would I forever be haunted by the question?

A thick cloud of steam wafted over the glass, and the girl vanished from sight. My shoulders fell with a little sigh as I climbed into the warm water. No point in wondering about that now. The boy, the girl, the night of fantastical impossibilities…all that was over.

It was time to wake up.

Chapter 8

“It’s time to wake up!”

I opened my eyes to see a strange creature hovering over me. Half of Amanda’s hair was set in foam curlers while the other half hung limply to the side. In one hand, she held a long wooden spoon dripping with runny eggs, and in the other she brandished my alarm clock.

“You are going to be late again. You silly, irresponsible girl. You are going to be late.”

It sounded tired. I wondered how long it had been chanting.

Tags: Sierra Rose The Billionaire Saga Billionaire Romance
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