Enough to Miss Christmas - Page 18/277

I lay in bed, my head throbbing and the room rolling, unable to sleep. Last night I was tipsy, tonight I was drunk. No doubt. I tried to undress but I kept breathing in the fragrance of thirty-six by quick count long stem roses now invisible in the darkness. The smell made my stomach roil and I stumbled to the massive bathroom, banging my shin, before losing my evening meal in an Italian marble toilet.

This wasn't going the way it was supposed to. I stumbled back to bed, still dressed. This man wasn't playing by any rules I knew. I was so far out of my league I couldn't see the playing field. I enjoyed his company. I felt a definite attraction. Whom am I kidding? What was the next level above a simple attraction and the feeling frightened me to death? Could Paul North be seriously pursuing me? Any normal woman, the recipient of so lavish a treatment, would be thrilled but I kept reminding myself, everything is relative. Yes, he'd spent hundreds of dollars on me but according to my niece's research, that sum was a drop in his very large bucket. I treasured my independence and I would not forfeit it for whatever it was Paul North had in mind no matter what Maureen thought of her stick-in-the-mud aunt. I was so uncomfortable with Paul North's freewheeling credit card that I was ready to flee Boston without a word of an apology. Maybe I'd kick myself later when I'd retreated to my bleak and boring existence but it would be my life and not the contrived whim of a man I hardly knew. Okay, maybe I'd miss him but I'd have my pride, whatever that was worth.

When I struggled out of bed after nine on Monday morning, it was with the conviction I'd return to my empty apartment by whatever means I could acquire. My head throbbed worse than yesterday but my mind was clear. I'd take a train or rent a car if need be, if my credit card could take the pressure. One way or another, I'd stop this man's manipulation in the bud.

After a lengthy shower I sat naked on the edge of the bed and took stock of my situation. My wrinkled slept-in clothes lay strewn on the floor. I had no others, save what I'd planned to wear to the wedding. I was supposed to be home by now. I fumbled on the last of my clean underwear and my now-inappropriate dress. When I'd worked myself into a half-presentable condition I ignored the conspicuously placed note for complimentary room service and made my way to the dining room.