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Rome couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt peaceful.
Chapter Four
Cloe woke to a throbbing headache, a queasy stomach . . . and the feeling of being tucked inside a warm cocoon. She cracked open her eyes, then slammed them shut again when brilliant rays of sunshine sliced through her retinas like her mama’s serrated kitchen knife slicing through August-ripened tomatoes. She groaned and snuggled deeper into the cocoon that surrounded her, wiggling her bottom until it was perfectly nestled in the cave of heat.
A cave that had a snake in it.
Beneath her butt cheeks she could feel its hard length twitch as if waking up.
Her eyes flashed open and she ignored the pain of the bright sunlight as she tried to figure out where she was. The smell of hay and the weathered pine walls gave her the answer.
She must have fallen asleep in the hayloft after her major meltdown. Thankfully, no one had witnessed it . . . no one but her Romeo.
She squeezed her eyes shut as memories flooded back of everything she’d said to Rome when she’d been drunk on champagne. How would she ever face the man again? And maybe she wouldn’t have to. If she stayed away from town and kept to the ranch, she might be able to avoid him until she left town to head back to College Station.
A throat clearing right next to her ear had her almost jumping out of her skin.
“Do you think you could let go of my arm?”
She glanced down and saw her arm resting on a dark-haired, muscled forearm in a cuffed white tuxedo shirt. Her hand was cradling the large hand attached to that arm, pressing it against her breasts.
“Oh my God!” She shoved the arm away before scrambling off the comforter and jumping to her feet.
The sight that greeted her left her completely at a loss for words.
Rome Remington was stretched out on the pile of hay with his black hair mussed and his tuxedo shirt unbuttoned, revealing a muscled chest with a thatch of dark hair narrowing to a skinny line that trailed all the way down to the waistband of pants.
Pants that sported a lengthy . . . snake.
Cloe’s eyes widened as she realized what she had been cuddled up to. Her face flamed.
So did her entire body.
Rome didn’t seem to be aware of her embarrassment. He squinted in the bright sunlight streaming in through the open hay doors of the loft for a long moment before he sat up and stretched his hands over his head and yawned. Her great-grandmothers could have scrubbed clothes on his washboard stomach.
“Good mornin’.”
All Cloe could do was stare. How could he look so gorgeous after spending the night in a pile of hay? She probably looked like she’d been living in a chicken coop for a month. She tried to smooth her hair and came away with a handful of straw, confirming her suspicions.
He leaned over and grabbed one of the bottles of water sitting on the floor and held it out. “Here. It helps to stay hydrated.”
She didn’t take the bottle. Her mind was too consumed with something else. “We didn’t . . .” She struggled to find the right word and came up empty. “Did we?”
He effortlessly rolled to his feet. “No, we didn’t. I don’t take advantage of inebriated women.” A smile tipped his lips as his gaze ran over her. His eyes twinkled when they lifted. “Now if you’d been sober, it might have been a different story.”
She blinked at him, and then realized he was only kidding. There was no way Rome Remington would make a pass at her. She laughed. “Well, thank you for being so honorable.”
“That’s me. Honorable to a fault.” He held out the bottle of water. “So how are you feeling this morning?”
She started to say fine, but then told the truth. “Horrible.”
“Physically or emotionally?”
She took the bottle of water and opened it. “Both. Using champagne to drown my sorrows was one of the stupidest things I’ve ever done. I’m sorry you had to witness it.”
“It wasn’t a big deal. Believe me, I did plenty of drowning when Emily left me.”
She lowered the bottle she’d just taken a sip from. “Did it help?”
