Chapter2
Portia almost jumpedwhen she saw her reflection. A flush of color in her cheeks. Blond hair tousled the way only sex could manage. Pale skin swathed in the wrinkled white sheet.
Who was the woman in the mirror? The one who’d slept with another man... and liked it?
That was the worst part. Or maybe the best part. Her heart still missed Tommy. Her body had apparently moved on.
Sure, she’d freaked out when she’d discovered that the man in her bed wasn’t Tommy. But once the tumble to the floor had shaken the sleep out of her system, Portia had remembered Aleksander. Aleks, as he’d said he preferred. Had remembered every touch, every sigh, and every look since he’d spoken to her in the bar.
Not even tipsy, she’d said yes when he’d asked her if she’d like to come back to his room. They’d barely made inside. He’d pressed her up against the door and her clothes had practically fallen off.
Portia released her death grip on the sheet and let it fall to the ground. Staring at the mirror, she studied the marks that passion had left on her skin.
Whisker burns freckled the slopes of her breasts. The faintest impression of fingers lingered on her hips.
Embarrassed, unable to process her conflicting emotions, she dropped her gaze to the haphazard pile of clothes. Dressing provided the distraction she needed from the stranger in the mirror. The one with the tangled well-fucked hair and the love bite just below her jaw.
The one with aches in her inner thigh muscles and more intimate places.
Trying to embody a calm she didn’t feel, Portia pulled on her underwear and pants.
She could do this. She could make it out of the bathroom, then out of the hotel.
Her hands fumbled with her bra. Heat flooded her body again. Less embarrassment and more memory of the way Aleks had removed it with firm kisses and impatient hands.
“Fuck!”
She finally gave up, stuffing her bra into her pocket. Next, she pulled on her sweatshirt, fluffing the collar to hide her hickey. Her sensitive nipples brushed the soft, worn fabric. She shivered, the sensation as titillating as it was unwelcome.
Portia Tremaine didn’t go braless. She didn’t accompany strangers back to their hotel rooms, either. Who was this stranger in her body?
Wetting her hands in the sink, she finger-combed her hair until she could weave it into two loose braids. She grabbed the tiny bottle of mouthwash from the counter and took a big swig. After swishing and spitting—to rid herself of morning breath or Aleks’s taste, she wasn’t quite sure—she gripped the edge of the sink and leaned toward the mirror.
Her reflection startled her a second time. It was the braids. They made her look younger. Made her look a lot more like Dizzie—her newfound and unwanted sister.
Breaking eye contact with this unrecognizable, unwelcome version of herself, Portia took a deep breath and stepped back. She’d stalled as much as she could. Hiding in the bathroom all day wasn’t an option. She wanted—needed—to be at home.
It was just as well that she didn’t look like herself. She needed to make a low-profile exit; no one needed to catch the head of the Tremaine Corporation in a walk of shame.
Portia pulled out her phone and used the biometric scanners to unlock it. She called up her contacts list... and stared at it.
She didn’t know who to call.
Her driver would be available. Quiet and kind, he’d been with her for years and wouldn’t comment about picking her up at the hotel, but he’d know it was not the place he’d left her.
She shouldn’t care what he thought, but she did.
Scrolling through the woefully short list of people she considered friends, she paused at a familiar name and number. Killian.
They’d been best friends for years. Her, Killian, and Tommy. Except she didn’t know where they stood now.
A spurt of anger welled up, answering that question. Nope. Not back to being best friends yet. She still had a lot of anger against him that she needed to work out because of his relationship with Dizzie.
There was Ash. She and the talented hacker had been on the way to becoming friends, maybe, until he’d confessed his role in the events leading up to Tommy’s death.
No. That didn’t feel right, either.
She scrolled down again and stared at the entry for the Jack. Taryn, known to most as the mysterious Jack, wasn’t a friend, but Portia admired the other woman’s business savvy and discretion. Taryn would arrange a ride for her. For a fee.
