The memory of it spread warmth all through her body and made her legs weak.
Where was she now? In his house? And what, besides that kiss, had happened yesterday? More memories flickered through her head. Starting from when she ran away from her wedding, Gordon screwing some prostitute and Marco/Polo—God, she really had to figure out his name—hanging out with her all night. They’d drunk a ton…or had that just been her? And then, well, there wasn’t a lot more she could remember.
Get it over with. Open that door and find out what kind of mess you got your butt into!
She took a deep breath and went to twist the handle. It squeaked a bit on its hinges until it fully opened. The house seemed quiet. She looked to the left and then the right. The hall was empty.
Stepping out of the bathroom, she crept out into the hallway and walked slowly as the shag carpet threaded through her bare toes.
The floorboards under the rug let out a loud groan and she bit her lip, glancing around sharply. Still quiet except for a dripping sound that came from what she assumed was the kitchen.
She arrived at the end of the hall and looked out into the living room. Not many furnishings, just a couch and a couple of plastic lawn chairs that were set up in a U around the television.
“Did you sleep okay?”
“Eeeaaw!” Brandy clutched her chest and spun around. “Jeez, you scared me.”
“I noticed.” Marco/Polo raised an eyebrow and walked past her into the kitchen, flipping on the light switch.
Why? Why did he look so good in the morning? It should be a crime. His hair was only slightly tussled, a T-shirt outlined his muscular chest and his boxer shorts showed off a very nice lower half. Her pulse, which had begun to slow down after the fright, sped right back up again. Stop thinking about his butt, Brandy!
“So? Did you sleep okay?”
She sighed. “I slept like someone who drank entirely too much and then passed out. But then I suppose that’s exactly what I did do.” She narrowed her eyes. “Okay, what the heck is your name?”
What was his name? Marco stared at her for a moment, trying not to look at the good amount of thigh she showed under his T-shirt. One thing he could almost distinguish today was her breasts—beneath the thin fabric he could tell they were full and round. Miss Choir Teacher was most definitely hiding under the drab clothes, and now he knew her secret.
He lifted his gaze from her chest and met her uneasy stare, but not for long. Christ, that hair. It looked like it was ready to take flight.
Shaking his head, he went to make a pot of coffee. “You don’t remember my name?”
She sighed. “Well, it’s either Polo or Marco, but honestly it’s all kind of a blur.”
“Marco.” Should he be offended? After loading up the water and coffee grounds, he flipped the switch up on the pot and turned to face her. “How’s your head?”
“Oh, besides feeling like it’s been smashed in by a baseball bat? Just dandy.”
“Want some aspirin? Or maybe a shot of tequila?”
Her face turned a bit green and he had to laugh. “Hey, don’t knock it until you try it, princess.”
“Meds please. I prefer my breakfast in the solid form.” She staggered into the dining room and sat down in one of the broken chairs. “Was that your bed I slept in last night?”
“No. It was my roommate’s.” He grabbed the aspirin out of the cupboard and handed her the bottle with a glass of water. “Here you go.”
“Oh, thank God.”
Marco turned and went back and opened the fridge. “Okay, solid food. We’ve got eggs and bratwursts. You want me to cook you some up?”
“Uh—sure. That sounds fine, thank you. Is bratwurst like sausage?”
What the hell? Had the woman never eaten a bratwurst before? “Yeah something like that.”
“All right. I’ve always heard sausage is a good hangover food.”
Had she been living in a cave her entire life? This couldn’t be the first time she’d been
Where was she now? In his house? And what, besides that kiss, had happened yesterday? More memories flickered through her head. Starting from when she ran away from her wedding, Gordon screwing some prostitute and Marco/Polo—God, she really had to figure out his name—hanging out with her all night. They’d drunk a ton…or had that just been her? And then, well, there wasn’t a lot more she could remember.
Get it over with. Open that door and find out what kind of mess you got your butt into!
She took a deep breath and went to twist the handle. It squeaked a bit on its hinges until it fully opened. The house seemed quiet. She looked to the left and then the right. The hall was empty.
Stepping out of the bathroom, she crept out into the hallway and walked slowly as the shag carpet threaded through her bare toes.
The floorboards under the rug let out a loud groan and she bit her lip, glancing around sharply. Still quiet except for a dripping sound that came from what she assumed was the kitchen.
She arrived at the end of the hall and looked out into the living room. Not many furnishings, just a couch and a couple of plastic lawn chairs that were set up in a U around the television.
“Did you sleep okay?”
“Eeeaaw!” Brandy clutched her chest and spun around. “Jeez, you scared me.”
“I noticed.” Marco/Polo raised an eyebrow and walked past her into the kitchen, flipping on the light switch.
Why? Why did he look so good in the morning? It should be a crime. His hair was only slightly tussled, a T-shirt outlined his muscular chest and his boxer shorts showed off a very nice lower half. Her pulse, which had begun to slow down after the fright, sped right back up again. Stop thinking about his butt, Brandy!
“So? Did you sleep okay?”
She sighed. “I slept like someone who drank entirely too much and then passed out. But then I suppose that’s exactly what I did do.” She narrowed her eyes. “Okay, what the heck is your name?”
What was his name? Marco stared at her for a moment, trying not to look at the good amount of thigh she showed under his T-shirt. One thing he could almost distinguish today was her breasts—beneath the thin fabric he could tell they were full and round. Miss Choir Teacher was most definitely hiding under the drab clothes, and now he knew her secret.
He lifted his gaze from her chest and met her uneasy stare, but not for long. Christ, that hair. It looked like it was ready to take flight.
Shaking his head, he went to make a pot of coffee. “You don’t remember my name?”
She sighed. “Well, it’s either Polo or Marco, but honestly it’s all kind of a blur.”
“Marco.” Should he be offended? After loading up the water and coffee grounds, he flipped the switch up on the pot and turned to face her. “How’s your head?”
“Oh, besides feeling like it’s been smashed in by a baseball bat? Just dandy.”
“Want some aspirin? Or maybe a shot of tequila?”
Her face turned a bit green and he had to laugh. “Hey, don’t knock it until you try it, princess.”
“Meds please. I prefer my breakfast in the solid form.” She staggered into the dining room and sat down in one of the broken chairs. “Was that your bed I slept in last night?”
“No. It was my roommate’s.” He grabbed the aspirin out of the cupboard and handed her the bottle with a glass of water. “Here you go.”
“Oh, thank God.”
Marco turned and went back and opened the fridge. “Okay, solid food. We’ve got eggs and bratwursts. You want me to cook you some up?”
“Uh—sure. That sounds fine, thank you. Is bratwurst like sausage?”
What the hell? Had the woman never eaten a bratwurst before? “Yeah something like that.”
“All right. I’ve always heard sausage is a good hangover food.”
Had she been living in a cave her entire life? This couldn’t be the first time she’d been
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