The sun crept in through half-drawn curtains, slanting across Mila's face like a slow, merciless interrogation that burned her back to reality. Her head throbbed in time with her heartbeat, the taste of rich liquor clinging to her tongue and reminding her of the richness of the champagne bottle.
Mila winced, pulling the covers tighter over her face to shield herself from the sun, her body sinking into familiar sheets, expensive ones, silky-soft but also very homely. Mila's nose caught a scent that wasn't hers. Something warm. Masculine. Cedar, smoke, and faint cologne.
This wasn't her hotel room. Lacie doesn't smoke and—! Her heart lurched.
Mila's eyes cracked open, her vision still blurry from the haze of alcohol. The room was too neat to be her hotel room. The ceiling too high. She shifted carefully, as if afraid she'd knock something over. She tried to adjust, but her legs tangled with another's. Longer, warmer, solid... definitely muscular legs held her to a place.
