She shook her head. “You must have noticed he’s a grand-looking man. He’s got his share of admirers, locals and tourists, but he’s no lothario. In fact, he’s the opposite. Never met a man more monogamous than Roane. He gets a right ribbing from the men round here for it. But he is who he is, and he never shows an interest in tourists.” She grinned. “Unless they save his best friend’s life.” She nodded to Shadow before looking back at me. “And have legs that go on forever.”

I rolled my eyes. “I’ve already told him I’ve sworn off men. This is a friendly drink to say thank you for saving Shadow.”

Milly chuckled. “If you say so.”

A few minutes later Dexter and Roane returned, and over the course of the next few hours I overimbibed as I was introduced to more locals; people whose names I forgot as soon as they said them . . . because things got very foggy. The last thing I remembered was finishing the sixth bottle of cider.

•   •   •

Which was probably why the next thing I remembered was waking up in bed with Roane Robson.

Six

The shock of seeing Roane’s handsome sleeping face on the pillow next to mine caused me to jolt upward, and with that sudden movement, a huge wave of nausea rose from my gut. Clasping my mouth, I threw myself off the bed and momentarily panicked as the world spun. Pushing through the dizziness, I lurched into the master bathroom and got the toilet lid up in time.

Ugh, vomiting was miserable.

And my body just didn’t seem to want to stop.

As the worst of it began to settle and I rested my head over the bowl, trying to catch my breath and pretty much luxuriate in my misery, I realized there were gentle hands on me. One was holding my hair away from my face, while the other rubbed my back in comfort.

Roane.

An image of what I’d woken up to flashed across my mind.

Roane, fully dressed, sleeping above the duvet on my bed.

Spitting up the last of the bile, I flinched at the sudden appearance of a washcloth in my face and with shaking hands took it from Roane. Wiping my mouth, I slumped back against the side of the bathtub and watched, pained, as Roane flushed the toilet.

Fragile.

The best word to describe how I felt with the hangover from hell was “fragile.” Like I might break apart at any second. My head pounded, my throat burned, and I felt sick, light-headed, and shaky.

Basically, I felt like I’d poisoned myself, which I had.

Why was Roane here?

I glanced down at myself. I was still wearing the same clothes from last night, so I hadn’t gotten undressed at any point. I didn’t think.