Get a Clue(24)

“There’s a down comforter,” Lariana said, pointing to the fluffy cover folded at the foot of the bed. “There’s also an attached bathroom that’s shared by the bedroom on the other side, but that bedroom is empty.”

They both looked at the closed door. Breanne was half hoping the maid would open it and check for the boogeyman, but she wasn’t about to ask and apparently Lariana wasn’t much of a mind reader. “There aren’t any baskets of accessories in there, are there?”

Lariana didn’t blink. “Did you want a basket of accessories?”

“No!” Breanne said, thinking about the pink vibrator she’d left downstairs. “I’m good.”

“Well, then. I’m going to make sure our other guest is comfortable. Good night.”

Their other guest. One sexy, irritating Cooper Scott, who was right now all cozy in her honeymoon suite.

The moment Lariana cleared the doorway, Breanne locked the door. Then she stood there, looking around. Feeling alone. It occurred to her that if Edward hadn’t screwed up, Cooper wouldn’t even be here. She might be even more alone.

She was glad she wasn’t, a fact she’d admit out loud only upon threat of death, and maybe not even then.

Braving the bathroom, she brushed her teeth and moisturized her face. A silly thing to do while in the haunted house of terrors, but the routine made her feel better.

Moving back into the bedroom, she glanced uneasily at the candles. There were five of them, three burning very low already. Would the other two last until daylight, and if not, what would she do?

One thing was certain, the next time she traveled, she was leaving the sexy nighties at home and packing a flashlight. And chocolate. And alcohol.

Lots of it.

Even though the room had indeed warmed up nicely, she climbed into the bed still fully decked out in Cooper’s sweats. The bedding was lush, thick, and combined with the fire, she was cooking in less than two minutes. Swearing softly, she got out of the bed and went to her carry-on, pawing through it as if by some miracle she might find something else to wear. No such luck. She pulled out the siren-red teddy she’d gotten at her shower. See-through lace, high cut on the thighs, nearly nonexistent over the breasts, it hadn’t been made for sleeping, that was for sure. It’d been made for her groom to say, “Looks great, baby, now take it off.”

And just like that, self-pity welled up hard and fast, swelling her heart, filling her throat so that she could hardly draw a breath. She’d managed to keep it all at bay for hours and hours, but now there was nothing distracting her but her own pathetic thoughts.

Somehow she’d screwed everything up. Again. Truthfully? She’d blown just about every opportunity she’d ever been offered. With only so-so grades in high school—she’d thought grades didn’t matter, she had Barry, ha!—she’d ended up at a junior college, with no idea of what to do with herself. She’d made her way through a string of go-nowhere jobs, and also a string of go-nowhere men, including fiancé number two.

And then Dean had come along.

She’d found him smart and cool under pressure, two traits she greatly admired because she wished she had more of each. With a single smile he’d swept her off her feet, despite the warning voice deep inside that said he wasn’t the one, that said he didn’t love her the way she wanted to be loved, that said she’d only get hurt in the end.

Her inner voice had been right. He hadn’t been the one, he hadn’t loved her the way she’d wanted to be loved, and she had gotten hurt.

Or at least humiliated.#p#分页标题#e#

Tossing aside the red lace, she reached for her Palm Pilot and made a new entry.

To Do list:

1. Live down expensive wedding that didn’t happen

2. Find new job so you don’t have to ever face Dean again

3. Hurry on #2 because you’re broke due to #1



She read the words, then nodded and tossed the thing back in her bag. Now that she had a plan, maybe she could sleep. Sure, she’d have to face the mess that was her life in the morning, but not before then.

Still too hot, she pulled out the second nightie, a creamy white silky camisole and short set, made of staggeringly expensive silk. The top had spaghetti straps and dipped low between the breasts, and the bottoms uncovered more than they covered, but they’d be soft against her skin, and wouldn’t itch.

Double checking the lock on both the bedroom and bathroom doors was a small gesture that made her feel marginally better as she stripped out of the sweats, and then her still-damp tank and panties. She put on the silk pj’s that had been meant for show only, which was ridiculous when she thought about it. Surely women ended up being ditched on their honeymoons with some regularity. You’d think they’d make these things more practical.