Page 46 of Brutal Heir

The thought made me blush. I groaned into the pillow, my head pounding in protest. Champagne hangovers were the worst. A bartender once blamed the sugar, but I believed it was the bubbles. Twenty-something years without waking up in a strange bed without pants, and now this.

I buried my face deeper into the pillow, muffling another groan. Had I really called Sebastian Diamanti…a teddy bear?

Just kill me now.

Wait. Even if we hadn’t had sex…had he…?

Lurching upright, I checked the other side of the bed. He hadn’t slept in it. I ran my hand over the cool sheets and double-checked for any indentation in the pillow. Nothing.

Only the dull hum of traffic from outside reached my ears.

Was he still here?

I wanted him gone. I needed him gone. But if he left without a word? That would say more than anything he could’ve whispered in the dark.

What the hell was I thinking?

Of course I didn’t want him to be here.

Not when I didn’t have my pants on or even know where they were.

Facing Sebastian Diamanti right now was the last thing I could handle.

This was bad.

Really bad.

Career-ending bad.

I opened my eyes and took in my surroundings. The bedroom was beautiful, decorated in cream and gold. On the nightstand, a tiny tent card displayed an elegant logo: Hotel Shangri-La.

Damn it.

Could there be anything trashier than getting drunk and passing out in front of Sebastian? Sure. Waking up alone in a hotel afterward.

I slipped out of bed, moving slowly and silently.

I needed to find my pants, shoes, and any shred of dignity I had left, and then get out of here.

On my knees, I crawled across the lush carpet, searching under the bed, around the furniture, and through the covers.

Nothing. No pants. No shoes. No purse. No phone.

My eyes widened. My phone. I threw my head back with yet another groan. I remembered grabbing my purse before leaving the café—or, more accurately, being dragged out of it—but I’d left my phone on the table.

I was alone in Paris, and no one even knew where I was…with no one to call for help.

The café. My friends. The party. Henri.

Sebastian showing up furious.

Like water torture, the memories dripped back, one agonizing drop at a time. The kiss.

Oh God, the kiss.

Sebastian had kissed me. Again.

And I had freaking liked it. Again.