Cecilia, present day

---

Cecilia woke up with her mouth feeling as though she’d swallowed an entire desert’s worth of sand. Her breath certainly could have made any desert-dwelling creature drop dead on the spot.

She never went to bed without brushing her teeth, without religiously using mouthwash and flossing, and now she’d done so twice in the last day.

Gross.

But she’d been so exhausted—emotionally and physically—after everything that had happened with Colin that she hadn’t moved from the bed, except to grab a book, toss her leggings to the floor, and slip off her bra.

She’d waited for him to come back, to knock at the door and demand answers.

He hadn’t.

And she wasn’t disappointed.

Because she was a strong independent woman and was fine on her own. Cue her wagging finger and her podium-worthy rant. She didn’t need a man, dammit. She was traveling through Europe. She had plans. She—

Had been frozen in place by his kiss. On her cheek.

Ugh.

Running her tongue over her teeth and wincing at the furry feeling, CeCe tossed the covers back and stood.

Who knew what hour it was, but she’d slept enough of her time away in London already. She wanted to go see Buckingham Palace and the Crown Jewels. And if she had time, she wanted to walk through Hyde Park with a coffee.

Dropping her chin to her chest, she took a moment to stretch out her stiff neck. No matter how expensive the room, hotel pillows still sucked.

A sigh. One more quick stretch and she headed for the bathroom. Or attempted to, anyway, because she had only taken one step in that direction before she’d tripped over something.

No. Someone.

A huge, male someone.

Her scream caught in her throat and she sucked in more air, trying to clear it, before she realized the male someone was actually a Scottish male someone named Colin.

“Shit,” she hissed, heart pounding, hand coming to her throat.

Colin was sleeping on the floor between the bed and the hotel wall, on the gross, hard industrial carpet. And he had . . . her book? It was resting open on his chest, rising and falling with each one of his breaths.

He had read it?

Oh, God.

Heat scorched her cheeks. The book was a steamy one, and of course the hero was Scottish and had broken the heroine’s heart in the past.

Which was too damned close to home, but she hadn’t been able to stop herself from finishing it, from crying at their trials, and then sighing in contentment when they’d finally found their happily-ever-after.

CeCe reached for the book, wanting to get it far away from Colin. Frankly, she wanted to chuck it out the window, but since that was probably sealed shut, she’d settle for it to be shoved deep down into her tote bag, never to been seen by steely blue eyes again.

The book’s cover was smooth beneath her fingers, that soft, almost velvet-like feel that some paperbacks had.

The spine was in good shape, hardly creased, but then again she was very careful with her books in general.

Not the point, at the moment, yet a nice distraction nonetheless.

But the distraction wasn’t to last because the moment she caught a whiff of his scent, woods with a hint of whiskey, she was ensnared.

Enraptured.

Entranced.

Her hand slid from the book to Colin’s chest, resting lightly as she shifted her position so her knees were next to his shoulder. And she studied the man, truly looked at him for the first time in years.

Not quick glances before avoiding his gaze, dodging old memories and pain. Not a flick of her eyes then away because he was so beautiful and hot and sexy and . . . overwhelming.

She really looked at him.

And noticed the changes in his face, the faint wrinkles around his eyes, the beard covering his cheeks and chin. It was a deep black, but there were a few gray hairs here and there. Enough of the silvery strands that for the first time she stopped to wonder all that Colin had been through.

She’d been so wrapped up in what happened to her that she hadn’t stopped to consider him.

Wow. So that was what guilt felt like.

Snorting at herself, she turned her eyes back to Colin. A curl of hair had slipped over his forehead, and she smoothed it back before starting to stand.

“You’re in dangerous territory, sweetheart,” came his rumbling, sleep-laden voice, hand snaking out to wrap around her wrist.

“C-Colin,” she stammered. “I j-just—”

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he said.

Or rather whiskeyed.

Holy entire bottle of the amber concoction, Batman.

“You’re drunk,” she said.

He shook his head, goofy smile on his face.

“You smell like you took a bath in a distillery,” she told him, slipping her wrist free of his grasp.

He tilted his head in the direction of his armpit and wrinkled his nose. His face fell.

That puppy dog expression had always been too much for her. The need to comfort him was compulsory and impossible to resist. “Yours is still my favorite smell in the world,” she blurted.

Then wished she’d kept her damned mouth shut because it revealed way too much.

The last bit of sleep slipped from Colin’s eyes. They sharpened, and she quickly stood.

“I should ask why you’re in my room, but I’m not going—” Her breath hitched when his hand went to her ankle, rough fingers tracing gently on the bare skin there. She cleared her throat. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Want company?”

Her heart clenched and her . . . well. Suffice to say that she had a lady boner.

He was fully clothed, touching one of the most innocuous parts of her body, and she had a serious moisture problem.

Which he could probably see since she was standing almost directly over him.

His fingers slipped higher, tracing little circles along the back of her calf, her knee, teasing at her thigh.

“I-I—”

He leaned up onto one elbow and those fingers slipped higher, until one tip slipped under the elastic of her underwear.

Just the tip.

She giggled.

She couldn’t help it. Bec, Abby, and Seraphina had corrupted her.

They were bad influences, especially because they would have encouraged her to . . . well, encourage Colin.

And she wanted to. Really, she did. Forget the past in that moment. She had a sexy Scot with his finger in her panties and she was wound so tight that it wouldn’t take more than a brush of said finger to send her toppling.

But he was drunk.

“You’re going to say no,” he murmured, slipping more of his hand under the elastic and cupping her ass with one rough palm. “I know you are.”

She nodded. “I’m going to say no.” Then added in a mutter meant for her ears only, “Not that I want to.”

Except apparently not quiet enough because Colin’s lips curved and his free hand came up, cupping her other cheek. “I can make you feel good,” he said and she knew he could. He had.

But. He. Was. Drunk.

“Climb into the bed,” she said, pushing his hands down and out of her underwear.

He scrambled up to his feet in a movement way too fast for someone who was inebriated. His arm slid around her waist and his mouth was on hers before she had a chance to realize what she’d said.

She’d meant for him to climb into bed. By himself.

Except she was there. With him. Surrounded by his scent, pressed into the mattress by his bulk. His lips were teasing hers open. His tongue was tangling with hers.

And fuck did it feel amazing.